Driving in the Rain

There have been two days of rain since I got the Blue Car back from the mechanic three weeks ago. On each of those mornings, I gleefully hit the roads in the Blue Car with a smile on my face, powering through puddles, wipers swishing back and forth. But there has been a drought in New England this August and I wish we had more rain. I want more stormy day test drives.

The Blue Car had a partial restoration back in 2018 including an engine rebuild and major body work. It was just in time: I was close to the Fred Flintstone moment of my foot going through the floorboard and using my heel instead of the brake pedal to stop the car. I wasn’t driving the car much then -- it was the period of my life when the Blue Car was an albatross around my neck (I apologize to you, Blue Car, and hope you and I agree this is something best forgotten). At that time, I saw myself as simply the guardian of the car and I restored it not to drive it regularly, but so the kids could enjoy it someday. When the Blue Car came back from its makeover, we had a few run rides over the next three years, but I never drove it in the rain.

Then one day, my other car was in the shop and I took the Blue Car on a round of errands in a rainstorm. Back at the house that evening, I pulled a grocery bag off the passenger side floor, and the bottom fell out, scattering food everywhere. I looked down and saw a big puddle on the carpet. A really big puddle.

I dried out the car and the next time it went in for an oil change I asked my mechanic at the time to find the source of the leak. Maybe a seal around the passenger side door? A hole somewhere? Garden hoses and fans and all kinds of creative tricks couldn’t replicate the leak, and I got the car back with apologies. “Maybe it was a one-time fluke? Some drainage hole blocked by leaves?” I took the news with a shrug; I barely drove the car and usually not in the rain. “No big deal,” I thought.

Three years ago, when I got wise and started driving the car more, when it became not an albatross, but a joy, I still didn’t drive the car in the rain; the defrosters aren’t that effective, and the windshield wipers are heart-stopping in their slowness at times. The leak remained a distant memory. Until Oregon two years ago. After driving Historic Highway 30 in the Columbia River Gorge in the drenching rain, I came back to the motel with soaked sneakers and 2” of water sloshing on the floor of the car.

And…at this point you may be expecting me to tell you how I addressed the problem of the leak, either during my road trip or when I returned two months later. I don’t want to disappoint you, but I did give you ample warning in the subtitle to this essay. It is after all, “a story about a leak and procrastination.” I didn’t address the leak. I was lucky on the rest of that trip…I encountered snow but no other rain after that Oregon drenching storm. I returned home, tucked the car in my garage for its winter sleep, and put the leak to the back of my mind.

Except I couldn’t. Not really.

After that trip, the Blue Car is now my daily driver for seven or eight months of the year. More road time means I am driving the car in the rain. In the past two years I have had more than one wet carpet moment, and more hours than I care to admit hanging my floor mats in the shower to drip dry.

Sometimes, at car shows and “cars and coffee” mornings, I talked about the leak with people who seemed more knowledgeable than me about cars (which means everyone else with a Porsche). Over two years, I collected theories and potential solutions that ranged from new seals to a misaligned hood or door panel. Often these opinions were preceded by a serious look, a sad nod, and a prolonged, ‘oh noooooo.” These responses made my heart sink as I dutifully collected names and contact information for shops that specialize in this sort of thing. And I continued to do nothing.

Then came the moment on a Saturday morning this past April when I borrowed towels from the hotel during the Porsche Club Northeast Region Spring Ramble because it was raining when we left for the day’s drive at 8am. I came back that afternoon with a sodden mass of terrycloth (but I was “smart” enough to remove the mats from the floor so at least they were dry). I was so annoyed with myself; I have known about this leak for four years.

Four years!

At this point I need to implore that before you judge me, know that I judge myself harshly for this. I am embarrassed. Please go easy on me.

I am not a bad person. I am not irresponsible. I am organized. I get things done on time. I am dependable. I created and ran a business with seven employees for over a decade. My kids got to school on time, had regular check-ups, and are healthy, well-adjusted, and responsible adults who meet their deadlines and show up on time. Hmmm…how far down this rabbit hole should I go? One last thing: people know they can depend on me to do what I say I will do. I show up.

All of this is true. Really.

And it is also true that I procrastinated about this leak for four years. Until just two months ago.

What took me so long?

Well, we all procrastinate sometimes, right? (This makes me feel better, substituting “we” for “I” so you are now lumped into my procrastination. No need to thank me. Really, it’s my pleasure).

I procrastinated about something just this week. It is Sunday morning, and I just started this essay that is due today, in about eight hours if want to stick to my self-imposed deadline. Each week, my noble intentions include writing a simple outline of ideas for the next week’s essay as soon as I publish the current week’s essay. I always aim to write a rough draft from this outline by Wednesday and then do final revisions by Friday afternoon. That gives me a completed article I can upload and schedule for Sunday publication before the weekend is underway, which I can then enjoy free of the weight of the deadline. Regular, predictable, stress-free. Except this plan has worked in this way exactly once.

And what is so deliciously amusing about this essay you are reading right now is that I knew, after hitting the “publish” button on last Sunday’s essay at 11:59pm (hey, I got it out on Sunday and met my deadline), that I wanted to write about procrastination this week. So, there you have it: I procrastinated about writing an essay about procrastination. I know. It’s funny, even to me.

My weekly essay procrastination, unlike my procrastination about the Blue Car leak, makes perfect sense to me. I do most of my best creative work under stress of deadlines. What doesn’t make sense is that I have set this hypothetical schedule that spreads my writing out over the week in order to avoid the last-minute stress that creates my optimum working environment. Either I should really embrace the Friday deadline as the absolute latest I can finish or just accept the fact that I will be writing my essay on Sunday.

My procrastination around writing this weekly essay seems simple and straightforward but the leak is harder to explain. I suspect we all procrastinate for different reasons (note I am still using the “we” here, still making myself feel better) and I think my reluctance to deal with the Blue Car’s water troubles stem from the two other major reasons I procrastinate.

When a project is large and complex, when I can’t see the tangible components or any immediate pathways forward, I tend to put the brakes on and delay starting. In these cases, my sense of being overwhelmed suppresses my natural inclination to dive in; the project is so big, it seems impossible to start. The leak fell into this scenario. It could have been a simple seal or it could have been major body misalignment or something else entirely that I hadn’t imagined yet. The process to trouble shoot this seemed complex. Start with a rainy day and move at speed? Where to focus on the car body? Pinpointing the source and then fixing the problem seemed a large task and I also worried about cost.

And that brings me to the second major reason I procrastinate: when I suspect an unpleasant process or a bad outcome. In the case of the leak, I worried about how expensive it would be to fix. When I was younger, I worried about processes that were confrontational or that would result in bad news or an unwelcome outcome. Over time, I came to understand just how counterproductive this form of procrastination is. It’s akin to feeling ill but not going to the doctor…after all, if you don’t have the test, you can’t receive bad news. Of course it doesn’t mean the problem isn’t there. It just means you keep worrying about what may or may not be wrong, delaying a possible treatment. Like having a Blue Car leak for four years when you could have fixed it in a month.

Luckily most of my procrastination these days is small stakes. I get up from my laptop and make a cup of tea. Or I do a load of laundry instead of revising a chapter of my memoir. Sometimes I simply must call a friend right now instead of reading through that three-page client email.

Procrastinating, delaying, denying---none of these things make the problem, the challenge, the issue, go away, as my experience with the Blue Car leak illustrates. In fact, procrastination usually makes things worse. It causes that problem, challenge or issue to grow and fester in one’s mind, taking up more and more rent-free space. Space better used for something else. Something joyful, productive, or useful. Space for something fun.

And the thing is, when I finally get around to doing the thing I have procrastinated about, I almost always wonder why I waited so long. I end up kicking myself for delaying because it’s never as big a deal as it was in my mind. I have found that the simple act of starting seems to blow the problem or task open, making it more accessible and doable. Starting somewhere, anywhere, usually reveals that the task wasn’t the beast I thought it was.

And this was exactly the case with the Blue Car. Finding the source of the leak was the sticking point in my mind so I did some trouble shooting before taking the car to the shop in June. I had no choice by that point; the Ramble wet weekend and my upcoming European road trip, along with the shame of waiting for so long, forced me to act. I started by questioning my long-held belief that the problem was on the passenger side of the car. I took the mats out and drove the car on a day of pouring rain. I stopped every five minutes to inspect the floor of the car and the side upholstery for the first signs of water. And yes, I should have done this four years ago, right after discovering the leak. That is what fear of bad outcomes can do to a person—it can squash all common sense. The important thing is that I finally did it.

And the surprise was finding a puddle of water on the floor behind the driver’s seat, with no apparent source. Like it simply dropped from the ceiling. But the ceiling wasn’t wet, and I don’t have a sunroof. The puddle grew with each stop and check of the car floor. I felt the sides of the frame, the door, and then the door strap and lo and behold, it seemed the water was coming from inside the driver’s side door. I had been looking for the source of the leak on the wrong side of the car. With that information, my mechanic was able to pinpoint the problem: the door and window seals and incorrectly installed weather proofing were replaced.

The bottom line? The leak wasn’t the big and expensive problem I worried about. And I should have discovered this four years ago. Except a nasty little thing called procrastination got in the way.